


How can I forget your love?

by shireness



Category: Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, happy middle but no happy ending, i swear i'll write the rest of this fic one day, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 08:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21455329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: Anne is used to not being noticed - except...(A Persuasion modern AU snippet)
Relationships: Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth
Comments: 33
Kudos: 119





	How can I forget your love?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [profdanglais](https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/gifts).

> Happy birthday, Saira! I hope this begins to live up to what I've been brainstorming with you for months.
> 
> Super thanks to @snidgetsafan for her always-excellent beta skills. Rated T for suggestion that maybe someones did Something. Title from Regina Spektor's "How", which conveniently came up on shuffle while I was brainstorming. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s Anne’s least favorite kind of meeting - the kind that’s advertised as a fun “lunch and learn lecture”, but in actuality is a mandatory presentation of the latest employee handbook updates, accompanied by dining hall sandwiches even the students avoid. She attends because she has to, but her attention is anywhere but on the projector screen as she and other department members settle into the auditorium seats.

That’s how she spots Frederick, of course. Not that it’d be easy to miss him; he leans against the stage, chatting with some of the other journalism professors, smack in the middle of everyone’s line of sight. He looks carefree and easy, with his plaid and dark jeans and leather boots and the perfectly coiffed hair he must have perfected after they ended things. He looks like a man of the world, and Anne knows that’s the truth. Nowadays, women giggle and whisper and smile flirtatiously when he passes by in a way they never did when he’d been a student. There’s no denying that the past eight years have been kind to him, as Anne has faded into a dull shadow of herself and the person she might have been. In any room they both occupy, she’s almost painfully aware of his presence, drawn to him after all this time in a way she can’t resist. It takes a concentrated effort not to track his every movement with her eyes, and she’s not always certain she succeeds. After all this time, it’s still him - always him, the only man to lay claim upon her heart, to make her think that maybe her silly romantic dreams were within the realm of possibility. But that was 8 years ago; the time for dreams is over, especially when she’s found herself a more content reality than she most likely deserves. It’s time to learn to live with her hopeless feelings.

If only she could stop noticing him all the time. 

(He doesn’t notice her, of course, though that may be on purpose than by chance. In any room they share, he refuses to engage her in conversation, barely deigns to meet her eyes.)

(After everything she did, the way she broke them, she can’t blame him.)

Anne is rather used to passing unnoticed in most situations. It’s nothing new, after all; in a family of loud personalities, it’s all she’s ever known. It’s useful, even, when she would rather work than get sucked into some inter-departmental drama or avoid passing judgement on whatever her father has decided is the latest crisis. It’s all about what you become used to after all, and Anne has always occupied the merest edge of other people’s sight, the dimmest corner of their mind.

Except —

_ Frederick has a way of looking at her that never fails to unsettle Anne - likely because he’s looking  _ at _ her, not around her, not at everything and everyone else in her vicinity. Just her. Like she’s worth seeing, worth noticing, worth cherishing. _

_ “I still don’t understand it, sometimes,” she murmurs. It’s the wrong time, of course; timing has never been her strong suit, anyways, and this isn’t exactly pillow talk, especially when Fred is still laying next to her all lovely and naked and mussed, tracing along her face with the most gentle of fingers. That’s the thing that prompts her poorly chosen conversation, however - the way he treats her like she’s unbearably precious, the most wondrous thing he’s ever encountered. She’s never had anyone do that before. _

_ (She almost thinks she could get used to it, given enough practice. Right now, it feels like they have all the time in the world.) _

_ “What’s that, Annie?” He’s the only one who calls her that, and she loves it.  _

_ “What a guy like you could possibly see in me.” _

_ “Oh, baby, you can’t think like that,” he chides gently, moving to stroke along her arm and draw her hand above where his heart beats steadily. “You’re you.” _

_ “Be serious, Frederick,” she chides right back, though the sentiment makes her heart warm. “I am perfectly well aware that absolutely no one noticed me before you.” Including my own family she doesn’t say, though she knows it sits unspoken between them. Fred has opinions about her family and how they treat her, Anne knows, few of them good. “I think it’s well within my rights to want to know why you did.” _

_ To his credit, Frederick gives the matter serious thought when she asks. He always does. “I didn’t at first,” he finally says. “You were just another girl I barely recognized in class. You didn’t talk much either, but when you did… I could tell it was because you had something to say. Your discussion points always made me think about things in a new way. After that… I just started paying attention, I suppose. Suddenly I could see everything about you, and I thought you were beautiful. Every bit of you, from the way you look to the way you think.” _

_ He says it so matter of factly, like it should be obvious, like it shouldn’t send her pulse fluttering like a thousand butterfly wings as he fiddles with her fingertips. But to Anne, it’s astounding. It’s been nearly a year now, and she’s still not used to the way he sees her, the way he makes her feel.  _

_ “I’m so lucky,” she whispers. There’s a feeling in the air somehow like if she say it any louder, the happy bubble they’re in will burst and this will all just be a beautiful dream. This may just be a little loft apartment, but it feels like heaven, even with dishes in the sink and Frederick’s Converse left haphazardly by the couch. Paradise can be imperfect, as long as you’re living it with the right person.  _

_ “Why?” he asks. “It’s nothing more than you deserve.” _

_ “Because you love me,” Anne replies simply. “And I love you.” _

_ “Always and forever, Annie,” he promises. “I’ll never stop noticing all the little things.” _

_ She thinks he means it, too, and tries to hold onto that as tightly as she can in case — _

“Anne, are you alright?” Sophie’s voice cuts through the memory. “You seemed far away for a few minutes there. Are you feeling well?” 

“I’m perfectly fine, Sophie, thank you for your concern.” At least as fine as she can be at a faculty luncheon, 8 years later, with Frederick across the room doing his best to ignore her and still looking impossibly handsome. “I just got a bit lost thinking about all the things I need to get done this afternoon.”

“I know, these things are so horribly boring,” Sophie confides. “It’ll be over soon enough, and you can go back to your office. Maybe you can even sneak out at the end - I’m sure no one would notice.”

And Anne unerringly knows that’s true. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!


End file.
